The Witch's Assistant Ch. 01

Disclaimer and Notes: The following story contains elements of: femdom, lifestyle servitude, pegging, monster women, monster woman-on-boy, body transformation, bondage, humiliation, degradation, chasity, cuckolding, impregnation, fantastical elements, changeable anatomies, shapeshifting, moral dilemmas, religious elements, and a touch of blasphemy.

If not in the first chapter then absolutely throughout the course of the story. This one contains femdom, pegging, body transformation, fantastical elements, changeable anatomies, religious elements, and a touch of blasphemy.

Enjoy!

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Chapter One: Vera Bowers

A small creepy shack in a misty dark wood, an old Victorian home on a grassy hill with wrought iron fences, a dark temple surrounded by chanting robed fanatics, an old abandoned orphanage, and a child with a bad attitude and even worse digestive issues. These were places that the devil was most likely known to live and thrive. But he knew far better, because according to his late father, then the devil lived in a small little city named Smithsburg. As a very stubborn tenant at his old apartment building.

The Brown Apartments were aptly named in part to his father, to the color of the exterior, and to the strong resemblance of shit. The building stood exactly six floors which were full of lovely people living in absolute squalor. The sign for the building hung askew above the entryway and the walls were in desperate need of a wash. He could not fathom the very idea of spending his life within these walls. But the air that evening was dreadfully cold and the streets dark. So, he grasped the collar of his coat, picked up his old worn briefcase, and strengthened himself for what lay within.

There was an intercom next to the door that was not so much as a place of greeting than a home to a hilariously fat spider and her web. She scrambled up and out of sight when he inserted the key beside the door and swung it open. The lights in the hall were dim and just barely clinging to life. What he could see illuminated he could only wish to immediately unsee. Sharply worded graffiti sprawled across the walls, water that dripped from ill-maintained pipes, and a welcoming committee of vermin that escaped into the night. He pinched his nose closed before the dank musk of the building could infiltrate his sinuses any further and jumped slightly as something furry brushed up against his legs. He prayed it was not the spider.

His skin crawled when he walked to the stairs and began to ascend. Each step moaned in agony no matter how little weight he placed down. It didn't matter if he hopped, skipped, slunk, or crawled. The wood screamed out into the silent air with every single motion. A handrail, if it could be called that, was covered in a thick layer of dust and unimaginable filth beside him. It wasn't so much as helpful to him but rather the perfect vector for immeasurable diseases.

On the second floor he was greeted by an elderly cat who simply sat licking itself as he rounded the landing and began to ascend. Their eyes met and it hissed loudly before bounding back into the shadows down the hall. Shadows, he noted, that should've been illuminated by the several hanging lights overhead. He felt his stomach lurch once more and continued on his filthy task.

He imagined if his sister could have accomplished this task. Her Jimmy Choo's clicking on the grime covered stairs, her face twisted and pale with just a healthy dose of green as she placed a hand to her mouth to keep from screaming. Her Valentino red lips spitting a string curses after curses at their late father and her dastardly brother. As if it was his fault that she had drawn the shorter straw at the funeral. Yet fate was unkind and here he was instead of her. But he dared not curse, scream, or even vomit. No matter how badly he wanted to.

He had a task, one of Sisyphean proportions, to complete. All he had to do was to tell the devil that they were now homeless. If he could just get them to pack up and leave without any further conflict than this rat hotel could be torn down for something far more sanitary. In fact, he would be doing them a favor in all honesty. Why had they chosen to stay here?

The third floor had not fared better than the ones below it. A small cloud of buzzing flies swarmed a pile of garbage stacked by a boarded-up door. Something began to thrash inside of the bag and his stomach did flip while he bound wildly up the stairs and away. The scent of filth was not rising but instead dissipating the higher he went. He clutched the bag in his hand and didn't bother to even glance at the fourth floor. Whatever terrors lay in that darkness could stay there for all he cared. More graffiti, curses, and a discarded liquor bottles littered the fifth. Another cat lived on this floor. It was far younger than the fat one with a thick shining coat of midnight black fur. It cocked its head when he stood on the landing focusing completely on him. He nervously waved towards it but that only seemed to anger the stray. It arched its back, hissed loudly, and the with a fierce yowl darted down the hall and into a room with an open door. He didn't dare to follow it. He just made a mental note to be careful coming back down.

The sixth floor was completely and utterly devoid of filth. Not a rat, cat, or bat to be found. There was only a row of doors on the left wall, lights that illuminated every corner, and windows that remained unbroken. It was like he had stepped into an entirely different building. The wooden floors while scuffed and a bit dusty were still not sticky or disgusting in any capacity. Despite the slight creakiness underfoot, there was nothing wrong. He felt like he could actually remove his hand from his mouth and breathe! It was a little slice of paradise in this otherwise slum.

The devil lived in apartment 6C. It was small little place according to the floor plans with only one bedroom, a tiny kitchen, and a living room attached to it. He approached the door with a heavy sigh and then rapped loudly upon the dark wooden door. There was the sounds of locks being disengaged until finally the door swung open to reveal his father's most hated enemy.

The devil was a woman. She did not wear Prada but could easily have walked the runway. She was tall, slender, with a sort of relaxed demeanor in the way she leaned against the door. Her soft green eyes drank in his visage without a single word while her soft pink lips curled into a smile.

"Most food deliverymen ring the doorbell." She had a slow way of speaking, the kind of enunciation reserved for charmers and seducers. Her black hair was fashioned into a short bob that framed her delicate face. Her features were gentle and regal. In fact, everything about her seemed to be. He shook her honeyed voice out of his head and cleared his throat loudly.

"My name is Albert Brown. Travis Brown was my father. I've come to discuss your apartment."

"Ah! Excuse my manners, Mr. Brown." She bat her long eyelashes at him before opening the door further. Every conceivable corner was covered in artifacts, antiques, and kitschy memorabilia. It lined the walls, it lined the dusty wooden table beside the door, and it lined the shelf behind the couch against the far wall. Crystals, candles, books, statues, figurines, all of it odd and misplaced. A small and ill-kept museum that was hidden from the public. He wouldn't be surprised if she did indeed offer tours.

"It's quite alright." He shifted his weight from one foot to the other. "May I come in?"

"Yes. Please make yourself at home." There was something off about her. He couldn't place his finger upon it. There was just something odd about the way she moved and the way the hairs stood up when he turned his back towards her.

"June, right?" He asked letting his eyes wander around the space. He couldn't help but to note the smell of stale bread and dust. Had she ever cleaned in here?

"June was my mother." The door closed quickly behind him.

"I'm sorry." He didn't know what to do. Would he sit? Stand? How could he tell this woman that she was homeless? Why had his father not told him of her? Not told him of how beautiful, soft spoken, and kind she was? She wasn't the devil. There was no way.

"Thank you, Mr. Brown."

"Please call me Albert. Mr. Brown was my father."

"Was?" She walked around him with an almost sort of flourish.

"He passed away recently."

"My condolences, Albert." She made her way into the kitchen without a single word. Just a sort of crestfallen look on her face. She was dressed in a black silk shirt with a pair of sweatpants. It was an incredibly odd sort of outfit. Had he caught her before bed?

"If you aren't June Bowers then who are you?"

"Oh!" She peeked around the small divider from the kitchen. "My name is Vera."

"Vera, I know that you know why I've come."

"Yes." She sighed. "Can I offer you any tea?"

"No. I'd like to finish up here and check into my hotel."

"You don't live here?" He gingerly picked up an old wooden rocking chair from beside the couch and gently lowered himself down into it. He didn't trust the grey couch. Call it a hunch, intuition, or a sixth sense but he felt that something was living in there and he did not want to meet it.

"In the apartments?" He called to her. Vera laughed loudly at that.

"No. In the city."

"Just moved here."

"You moved without a place to live? You know I know a great place with some vacancies. The landlord is the worst, but no one will bother you."

"No thank you." He grit his teeth. From the state of things his father certainly wouldn't win any awards for his work.

"You want to talk about this? Your father never sent anyone to clean up this mess, never fixed anything, and tried to raise the rent of me three times."

"Listen, I'm not here to talk about my father."

"Are you the new landlord?"

"I am." He nodded.

"Are you going to fix this?" She emerged with a teacup in hand from the kitchen. Vera marched over to the couch before flopping down into it. Not a single drop of her tea spilled. Her eyes were full of anger and indignation and he couldn't help but to look away from her. He didn't want to be here. He didn't want to do this. But he had to, right? What sort of son would he be if he didn't fulfill his father's final wishes?

"We're going to tear down the place." He sighed. "Vera, I'm sorry to tell you like this. But this place will be torn down."

"You can't tear down this place if I refuse to leave." She sipped her tea. "I remember having this conversation with your father."

"You knew?" His eyes widened at that. "Excuse my frankness but why are you still here? Why do you live in this hole?"

"This place has sentimental value to me. It used to be nice. But your father purposely trashed the place to get us to leave. He cared more about money than his tenets. Why would I give in to such an awful man?"
"I'm not going to argue for my father's actions. This complex, if it can be called that, is filthy and hellish. I would never live or want anyone to live here. But I can't have you stay here in this squalor. You should leave before it becomes a pile of rubble."

"And I'd still be living in this pile of rubble."

"Vera, please be reasonable." He sighed pinching the bridge of his nose in frustration. Even with his limited negotiation skill he could tell that this was going nowhere.

"The time for reason has long past, Mr. Brown." He could feel the sick rising at the address.

"Please," He stressed through clenched teeth trying his hardest not to let the anger get the better of him. "Do not call me that."

"I apologize."

"Is there no way that we can come to an agreement?" He could feel the exasperation growing thicker in his voice by the moment. He just wanted her gone so he could claim his inheritance and return to his own little apartment for the evening. There was no way in this lifetime that he would ever return to this filthy place of his own volition. It was truly and honestly better off rubble.

"There can be. How about a wager, Albert?" She peered up from behind the cup and crossed her legs. He tried not to let his jaw hit the floor and swallowed his surprise before it could completely take over his face.

"Excuse me?" He cleared his throat. "What do you mean?"

"Are you willing to bet on it?" She was clearly smirking now placing the cup down on the table in front of them.

"Why would I?" He narrowed his eyes with a flash of anger in his voice. Did she think this was a joke? He was trying to do her a favor! Why was she playing around like this?

"It's the easiest solution to our issue. I can tell you aren't going to budge. You've clearly got your reasons on not letting this go. I'm not leaving without a fight. I'll happily leave if I lose. I'll even leave tonight, and I'll owe you."

"And if you win?" He leaned forward in the rocking chair.

"Only a little itty-bity proof of my victory." She purred grinding in her seat with each word. "I want your immortal soul."

"Excuse me? Is this a joke? Are you mad?" He scoffed at her. "Even if there was a thing-"

"Oh, but there is." A chill ran down his spine at her velvety growl. "But I should have known you were a skeptic."

"I am not a skeptic." He rolled his eyes. "I just do not believe in such silly things."

"Silly things like souls? Your immortal essence that contains your true nature? A sliver of the divine hidden behind walls of human flesh?"

"Ew." He shuddered. "This is getting-"

"I bet I can make a believer of you yet, Albert Brown."

"No thanks. I know your tricks."

"Tricks!" She laughed loudly. He could swear that the room was growing darker by the second. "You've never seen anything like me before, Albert."

"I think I should go." He stood up but he found himself unable to pull himself from her gaze. He needed that money to start over. He needed that money to pay for his school, his apartment in the upper-west side, he needed it for so many things. He needed to take the bet.

"No." She shook her head. She extended a palm expectantly for something. "I think you want to play a little game with me."

"A bet for my soul." He gulped.

"Now, don't be scared!" She leaned forward with a cruel knowing smile. "After all, it's only a silly little thing."

"I'll do it." He whispered. The darkness seemed to be creeping ever closer to his feet as if a black abyss were waiting to swallow him whole if he dared to retreat.

"I didn't quite catch that." She smirked. "Come again?"

"I'll do it." He growled. "I'll take your bet."

She laughed loudly placing her cup of tea down on the table before extended her hand as if she expected something in return.

"Give me the quarter you were holding for bus fare." She said never ceasing to smile at his dismay. "Please."

"H-H-How?" He fumbled for the loose change in his front pocket. He had saved a bit of money from dinner last night just in case he needed to take the bus to the apartments and back. But there was no possible way that she could have known that. At least none that he could think of. He pulled a single quarter from inside and tossed it to her.

"You don't want to flip it?" Her smile faded as she snatched it from the air. She turned the coin over in her hand several times like she was looking for something that wasn't there. Satisfied, she let it sit for a moment in her palm.

"I figured you did." He grumbled.

"Alright. Just for the object of fairness, this coin has two sides. Heads and tails." She held the coin aloft and turned it so that he could see both of them. He sighed loudly and pinched his nose.

"I see."

"I'll flip it and you call it in the air."

"Got it."

"Ready?"

"Just do it." He sighed. "I want to go home."

"Aren't you scared at all if I win? Aren't you excited at all to win?" She cocked an eyebrow before closing her hand around the coin. Her eyes were softened with both concern and a bit of sadness. Was she enjoying this farce?

"I don't care. You want to humiliate me over a game of chance? Fine. We'll leave a huge important decision to a game of a chance. But I'm not going to smile like I wasn't just bent over a barrel over it. So please just toss the fucking thing so I can go home."

"You are such a downer." She sighed. "Call it."

Vera Bowers flicked the coin high into the air and they could only watch the coin. He could only watch helplessly as his future, his dreams, his everything tumbled end-over-end until it began to fall back down from the heavens.

"Heads!" With the word still ringing in his ears he could only watch the coin clatter loudly down on the table. It bounced once, twice, before steadily coming to a rest. His heart raced in his chest, his throat became dryer than even the hottest desert, and in the exact opposite response his palms began to ooze sweat.

The coin finally settled, and his stomach lurched.

Tails. It was tails.

"Oh look, I win." Vera said sliding the coin back towards him. "You owe me your soul."

"Are you fucking kidding me." He groaned loudly. "You were serious? Fine. I give you my soul."

"No." She tutted extending her hand in victory. "Take my hand."

"What is wrong with you?" He slapped it away. He jumped from the chair and stomped away in frustration. He was done playing her games. He tossed open the door and started towards the hallway.

Except there wasn't a hallway and he didn't toss open the door. He, instead, had apparently done nothing but get closer to Vera.

"Take my hand." She said again in a much more amused tone.

"Go fuck yourself." He stomped towards the door, tossed it open, and then...

He found himself in front of her once more. He hadn't moved a single inch. Instead, he was actually getting closer to her!

"Albert Brown," Stomp, toss, and then-

"In accordance to our wager," He sprinted towards the door throwing his entire body at the door until it crashed off the hinges. He scrambled at the hallway before-

"I hereby claim," He began to sweat now. He could still feel the wooden floor underneath his finger nails yet every time he blinked he was just getting closer. No, that wasn't it. The room was actually getting smaller! He let loose a bellowing scream and lifted the wooden chair high above his head.

"Fuck you!" He tossed the chair at her smug smile but when he blinked, he was seated in the same chair once more.

"in the eyes of all who dwell in both the shadows and the light," He jumped across the table with his fist raised and poised to strike but before the blow could land, he was back where he started once more.

"that which cannot be lost, cannot be stolen, and cannot be destroyed," The ground began to shake beneath them, yet everything stayed still. He felt sick, nauseous, and the room kept twirling out of control. The creeping darkness had begun to cover everything until there was only Vera Bowers and him. Only them against the void of nothingness.

"possession of your immortal soul for all eternity."

No sooner did she finish those words did the table separating them vanish. She thrust herself upon him and into a passionate kiss.

But he did not feel anything but a creeping coldness that spread from his toes to the tips of his head. He grew weaker the longer that they remained together and eventually the abyss took his sight as well. He could only feel the icy grip of her fingers on his face and intertwined in his hair. Until that too vanished.

Until all that remained of him was completely gone.

Then the light came back to him. The weight of his body, the smell of burning candles, the anxieties and panic in his mind. All of it surged back and through him until he could hear his own voice screaming out once more.